


Dice

by levitatethis



Series: Dice [1]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the future Mohinder and Sylar are on different sides but working towards a similar goal against The Company. They have been secretly meeting to exchange information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dice

He slides the security key card up and pushes the room door open.

So familiar is the layout of this room that he walks along the hallway, passing the bathroom and closet on his right without a second glance.   
He tosses his shoulder messenger bag on the queen size bed and ignores the kitchenette to his left as well as the small, round, dining table with two chairs that separates it from the room just beyond.

Steady steps propel him forward into the mini living room with the fold out sofa and armoire that conceals the television inside. A coffee table stands between the two.

Where he does stop, as always, is the window.

Standing off to the side he gazes watchfully from behind a slightly pulled curtain to the street below and the numerous hotel rooms across from his, looking for anything that should raise his level of concern.

After a few minutes he steps back into the insular world of his own impersonal room. Letting the curtain fall back into place he shrugs off his green corduroy blazer and tosses it to the beige sofa.

Walking back towards the centre of the room he loosens the knot of his tie and, using just his right hand, undoes the top two buttons of his white shirt. He sits down on the edge of the bed, legs bent over the side, and faces the kitchenette.

Almost bare except for the two upside down glasses and coffee mugs beside the sink, there is an empty coffee pot with a package of instant grinds leaning against it and a microwave on the far side of the counter. He remembers that there are some plain white plates, cereal bowls and basic cutlery in the cupboards and drawers.

He pulls up the sleeve of his left arm and checks the time indicated on his watch. It reads 12:00 pm.

Resting both arms on his knees he grasps his hands together and looks contemplatively towards the door.

All Mohinder can do is wait. 

 

**II**

“Wha—hey, when did you get here?” Mohinder asks sleepily waking up from an unplanned nap.

“Ten minutes ago,” Sylar replies, sitting along the left side of the bed with his back against the pillow propped up between his body and the headboard. He closes the book in his hand.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” asks Mohinder still lying down along the right side of the bed. He rubs his eyes for clarity.

“You look like you needed the rest.”

Mohinder notices the book in Sylar’s hands and curiously asks, “What are you reading?”

A hint of amusement in his eyes, Sylar replies, “The Bible.”

The surprise look on Mohinder’s face prompts Sylar to clarify his answer.

“It was in the nightstand. Anyway, it’s been awhile. It reminds me of…I guess I’m now more partial to--,”

“Paradise Lost,” Mohinder muses.

Sylar smiles. Mohinder moves to get up but Sylar places his right hand on his left shoulder and gently pushes him back down.

“Relax Mohinder. We have time. I brought sandwiches.”

Mohinder watches Sylar roll off the bed and walk over to the kitchenette. He places his right arm behind his head, his eyes never leaving Sylar while he removes their late lunch from the brown paper bag and places their sandwiches on two plates.

“I didn’t know if you’d show,” Mohinder comments.

Sylar stops, his back to Mohinder. A moment passes before Sylar picks up the plates and turns around.

“You say that every time,” Sylar responds straightforwardly.

“Do I?” questions Mohinder shrewdly.

Sylar smirks and puts the plates on the table. 

 

**III**

“So that’s three new abilities since we last met?”

“Yes.”

“Which brings you up to thirty-five total. Still no side effects from all of them?”

“No.”

When Mohinder’s eyes take on a far away look Sylar knows exactly where his mind is going.

“Don’t ask if you don’t want to know, Mohinder.”

Snapping back into their conversation Mohinder says, “It’s not a question of want, it’s a question of need—for the research—but I’ll never get used to what a new power means…more spilled blood.”

“You’ve always known what my…what it entails.”

“But with the x-ray vision you no longer need to--,”

“I don’t share Mohinder,” Sylar affirms gruffly.

“But you still haven’t taken anything from your band of psychopaths,” Mohinder attempts to point out the contradiction.

“Yet,” Sylar interjects. “When it’s…feasible I won’t hesitate. For now my letting them exist without interfering internally is all part of some larger understanding that Adam--,”

“The impulsive Sylar delaying gratification?” Mohinder slips in a joke to deflate the increasing level of tension.

A sly smile pulls at Sylar’s lips.

He leans towards Mohinder and says, “I learned that lesson a long time ago. I just didn’t need to use it for a second time until now.”

Mohinder lets Sylar’s suggestive comment linger in the air.

“It didn’t count then. I didn’t have anything--,”

“You had the list--,”

“But nothing else for you--,”

“Not true.”

An appreciative look settles between them.

“How about you and your forty thieves?” Sylar jokes. “How are your plans coming along?”

Letting out a scoffing laugh Mohinder reprimands him.

“Just because I’m brown does not mean I’m Arab, many of whom, by the way--,”

“Just like my appreciating Paradise Lost does not make me Lucifer,” Sylar interrupts the beginning of Mohinder’s, albeit amusing, lecture.

With laughing eyes Mohinder replies, “No literary reference left unturned.”

Sylar leans back and contemplates Mohinder. Although their visits are rare he looks forward to each one with the impatience of a child on Christmas Eve and the desire of an adult who has found his one, uncontested, equal.

He watches Mohinder’s expression turn serious again.

“In a way we’re all trying to get the same thing,” Mohinder sighs. “It seems odd to be as much a threat to each other.”

“It’s the way of the world, Mohinder,” Sylar pontificates. “We all want to come out on top, even if it means killing the person at our side. We all want to be the final one standing.”

“What a selfish sentiment,” Mohinder mutters disapprovingly.

“Yes,” Sylar replies callously.

 

**IV   
**  
“Do you need to be somewhere?” Mohinder asks, noticing Sylar’s glance towards the door.

“No--,” Sylar answers, “I just—I’m not sure.”

 

**V   
**  
“Of your new abilities are there any you are still unsure about?”

“Do you mean like wanting to give them back?

“No—more like, you took it but don’t know when you would use it.”

“….”

“Really? There’s not one--,”

“Colour alteration—usable but not a big one to pull out…Transference—sharing a given ability with someone or something I’m touching--,”

“Why would you be unsure about that one?”

“Another person…would just slow me down.”

 

**VI   
**  
“When did you stop wanting to kill me?”

The dismissive response dies on Mohinder’s lips when he realizes the seriousness behind Sylar’s waiting eyes.

“I’ve never wanted to stop avenging my father.

“But…” Sylar leads.

“Circumstances changed,” Mohinder admits, “and it got moved down the priority list.”

“What kind of circumstances?”

Mohinder evades the question by posing one of his own.

“When did you stop wanting to kill Molly?”

With a knowing smile at Mohinder’s tactic, Sylar replies, “She has an incredible ability. Still.”

“But…” Mohinder pushes.

“She has come to exist in a gray area.”

“You’re concerned that my seeking vengeance will go back to the top of the list?” Mohinder asks, trying to make his voice sound light but feeling the heaviness of the sentiment at its core.

Sylar eyes him and fights back the much more simple truth twisting on his tongue. He refuses to lay his vulnerabilities out.

“Yes,” Sylar lies.

 

**VII   
**  
Standing in the living room, gazing towards the drawn curtains, Mohinder shows his first signs of nervousness.

“How long do I have?”

Sylar tilts his head towards the door and closes his eyes.

“They’re already here.”

He turns towards Mohinder watching him put his jacket back on and swinging the strap of his bag over his head and across his shoulders. A grave look is emblazoned across Mohinder’s face. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a semi-automatic.

“It’s going to take a lot more than that to stop them,” Sylar chides him.

“I’m fully aware of that,” Mohinder admonishes him. “Did you really think I came alone?”

Sylar looks at him with unexpected surprise.

Mohinder continues, “We both knew our meetings would one day come to an end…When they were discovered.”

“Bennet, Peter--,” Sylar starts to ask.

“Figured it out after last time. Your men?”

“Yes.”

“I guess neither of us was good at being covert,” Mohinder jokes with no trace of humour in his voice.

“Thanks for the warning,” Sylar finally utters sarcastically.

“I was going to say the same thing,” Mohinder retorts angrily.

They both face off in a pseudo standoff understanding that this is their end. This is the final chapter.

Sylar breaks the silence first.

“Don’t take it too personally, Mohinder. When they found out—it has to be done.”

“Sylar, I’m sure you’ll take pleasure in still being near the top of the Resistance hit list.”

Again they stare each other down until Mohinder breaks the look. He reaches into his bag with his free hand and removes a sealed envelope. A quick glance at the front and he hands it to Sylar.

Curiousity directs Sylar’s gaze to the name and address on the front.

Molly Walker.

He tosses a confused look at Mohinder, who explains.

“I need you to make sure this gets sent to her—in case…” his voice drifts off distractedly.

Mohinder’s grudging acceptance of his own mortality hits Sylar in a way he cannot begin to understand.

“This is nothing but a guarantee of your willingness to die. Is the fight too much for your delicate being?” Sylar verbally attacks out of uncertainty and an attempt to light a fire in Mohinder.

“I’m not laying down to die but even with this,” Mohinder replies as he raises the gun, “I’m at a distinct disadvantage amongst all of you. Would you just do this for me?”

“No, I--,”

“I need her to know I’ve made certain arrangements. I need her to know I said goodbye. Please, Sylar.”

Sylar’s eyes go to the envelope. His eyes follow the path of Mohinder’s handwriting, so distinct his lines and curves, the pressed in ink indentations revealing hesitations as he wrote these words.

“Fine,” Sylar utters as a growing distraction picks at the back of his brain. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s go,” Mohinder says quietly but resolutely.

 

**VIII   
**  
The first stretch of hallway feels like the longest walk either man has ever made.

Inevitability. Fate. The end of the line.

Mohinder can feel the tension emanating from Sylar’s body, the dreaded finality of each step.

Sylar’s head throbs with the pounding of Mohinder’s heart, a stark contrast to the look of stoic calmness on his face.

Underneath the barrage of heartbeats, Sylar hears movement from the crossing hallway another forty feet ahead of the one they are in. Flipping his x-ray vision on he can make out one of his men, Mathius Boulard, approaching.

Turning off his ability Sylar glances sideways at Mohinder who is keeping pace on his left.

It will be over before it has even begun. Mohinder will not see it coming.

Boulard’s magnified senses can hear their feet against the floor, their breathing. He will see the hint of their pixilated blurs before Mohinder realizes anyone else is there.

Steadily approaching the last act, the culmination of a tragedy eight years in the making, Sylar purposely, with great awareness, reaches out and places his left hand on Mohinder’s right shoulder.

Mohinder’s steps slightly falter, slowing down, and he casts an uncertain look on his companion.

Sylar cloaks them both in invisibility.

 

**IX**

“Nine o’clock,” Sylar yells as they step into the crossway of the two halls.

Mohinder whips his gun left and fires one shot that strikes Mathius in the right shoulder causing him to drop his own gun.

In the same moment an unexpected bolt of electricity from the right side of the crossing hallway strikes through Sylar and Mohinder, throwing them off their balance.

Briefly losing contact both men reappear, stumbling for footing. Sylar shouts in pain while the intensity of the sudden burn nearly renders Mohinder unconscious.

Syar grabs at Mohinder, disguising them both again, and spins him in front towards Elle who is fast approaching down the hall.

She lets loose a second strike that nearly takes Mohinder’s head off. The strike hits Mathius’ left shoulder and throws him backwards to the ground.

The momentum of Sylar’s whipping Mohinder around allows him to fire off two shots above Elle’s head while they, in turn, end up facing the direction they were heading in, except now Mohinder is on Sylar’s right side.

Elle hits the ground in surprise, looking for cover, while Sylar and Mohinder reach the door to the stairwell.

Using telekinesis, Sylar pushes the door open and condescendingly tones, “Nice shooting Jesse James. How did you miss her completely?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill her, I was trying to warn her,” Mohinder defends himself.

 

**X   
**  
They only make it down two flights of stairs when Peter comes phasing through the fourth floor stairwell door at full speed.

Colliding with them, all three go careening down the next flight and end up in a tangled mess on the landing. As they all struggle to get up despite jumbled legs and hands pushing at each other, they proceed to tumble down the next flight.

Mohinder can feel every edge of every step imprint itself on his sore body and he struggles to breath with Sylar and Peter wrestling on top of him.

Mohinder manages to place his hands on the cement floor a foot in front of him and drag his body out from under the human quagmire. Panic slams into him when he realizes he no longer has the gun.

Ignoring Sylar and Peter who are trying to strangle each other, Mohinder’s eyes race along the stairs. He finally spots the gun on a step five down from where they are. Pulling himself to his feet he scurries down the steps and picks it up.

Looking back he can see both Sylar and Peter fuming with anger, taking out all their built up hatred on each other.

Sylar manages to telekinetically push Peter away from him and into the wall. But in lightning fast speed Peter is back in Sylar’s face. A jolt of electricity from Peter’s hand into Sylar’s stomach sends him doubling over in pain.

Peter grabs the top of Sylar’s head by the scruff of his hair and slams his right fist three times into Sylar’s face. He makes sure to draw blood from the now split lip.

Sylar pushes forward, his head in Peter’s stomach, and slams them both into the wall.

Suddenly Sylar collapses head first into the wall as Peter disappears and then reappears right behind him.

Peter grabs Sylar and spins him around.

Letting out a laugh Sylar grabs Peter’s face and lets forth a rush of frost from his touch, almost totally immobilizing his attacker.

While Mohinder rushes back up the stairs towards them Peter begins glowing with heat, defrosting his body and beginning to burn Sylar’s hands.

Sylar sees Mohinder coming up behind Peter. Before Sylar can warn him, Mohinder grabs Peter by the shoulder to pull him back.

Instinctively Peter spins around and unintentionally unleashes an electric bolt into Mohinder’s chest that throws him backwards.

Angrily Sylar spins a momentarily surprised Peter around to face him again and strikes an uppercut to his chin.

Peter, with his head shooting up and back, manages to grab Sylar by the neck readying another strike when he is suddenly knocked unconscious.

While Peter’s body falls to the floor, Sylar’s bewildered eyes find a worried, and heavy breathing, Mohinder standing behind Peter’s collapsed body, a gun firmly in hand. Mohinder looks at Peter with concern before acknowledging Sylar.

Unsure of what to say Sylar cautiously steps towards Mohinder.

“He’ll wake up soon. We need to keep moving,” Mohinder says distractedly.

Sylar turns Mohinder around, directing him towards the stairs heading down.

“Let’s go,” Sylar orders and beings to lead them both.

“I think both our crews are going to get us killed,” Sylar growls partway down the next flight.

“That would seem to be the case,” Mohinder huffs breathlessly.

 

**XI   
**  
Entering the parking garage Sylar takes a firm hold of Mohinder’s left arm rendering them invisible again.

Quietly they move forward, still keeping a steady pace, amongst the parked cars and hollow echo of their shuffling feet.

They make their way across the stretch of stale smelling concrete to a locked emergency staff door at the far end. Still holding Mohinder, Sylar places his left palm on the door and concentrates until he hears the lock slide out of place.

“If you follow this hall it will take you to the basement of the hotel next door,” Sylar informs Mohinder. “You’ve got the gun, don’t be afraid to use it.”

“In the hallway…why didn’t you let him shoot me?” Mohinder starts to ask.

“It would have been too messy up there,” Sylar interrupts. “Besides one more meeting can’t hurt.”

Mohinder allows a brief, but still weighted with worry, smile.

“I don’t think this went quite how either side expected it would,” Mohinder tries to joke lightly. “We’re both going to be on the receiving end of some severe reprimands.”

“They’ll still never get it,” Sylar intones seriously, opening the door.

Sylar can barely get out the word “No”.

It is too fast for even him to stop, all he can do is turn his head and catch the glimpse of Declan Versa’s face. The thought that sears across his mind is that he should have taken Declan’s night vision ability when they first met. Even invisibility could not escape his gaze as his eyes could still perceive the thermal body heat present in the believed absence of the physical.

Mohinder’s body jerks out of Sylar’s grip from the bullet that pierces his body. Three more shots follow instantaneously while Mohinder’s visible body collapses to the ground.

Encapsulating shock rips through Sylar’s mind and body as he phases into visibility.

Declan lowers the smoking gun and steps forward from the hallway on the other side of the door.

“Nice job getting him down here, my man,” Declan gloats. “I told Adam you’d do it—I know you said to incapacitate, but this was too much fun.”

Sylar does not lift his eyes from Mohinder’s crumpled body bleeding out at his feet. The last gasps of breath ricochet off the walls of his brain. Mohinder’s eyes watch his, questioning, wondering, slipping away slowly.

The sound of approaching footsteps causes Sylar to break away from Mohinder’s gaze. Sylar looks across the parking lot from where Mohinder and he had come. Mathius is now awkwardly stalking towards them.

“Is he dead?” Mathius spits out from thirty feet away. “That asshole shot me!”

Declan laughs and says, “Almost—just a few more seconds. You know, for a boring scientist he can point and shoot.”

Declan’s laughter thunders in Sylar’s ears while he watches Mohinder’s killer with an expressionless face.

Sylar looks down at Mohinder again as his body gasps for one last fruitless breath.

Mohinder’s eyes drift to the left. No longer able to imprison Sylar in his gaze, he lets go.

Sylar looks up at a chuckling Declan with such an unreadable look that it stills the laughter in the gunslinger’s throat. Sylar turns the palm of his left hand towards Declan. Before Declan can raise his gun, Sylar makes a swift, right to left, gesture with his index finger.

Declan’s head falls off, decapitated in less than two seconds. Blood flows forth with both his head and body falling to the ground.

Immediately Sylar turns around to face Mathius who is now only fifteen feet away. Using the same quick fluid movement Sylar decapitates Mathius. His head falling to the ground, his feet still carry his body forward a few steps before falling out from underneath his headless corpse and crashing the rest of him to the ground.

Sylar looks back at Mohinder’s lifeless body.

His shirt is soaked in blood as it pools all around. Kneeling down, Sylar gently places his right palm flush against Mohinder’s still warm face.

The muttering of unintelligible words that spills from his lips sounds like a voodoo chant meant to will the dead man back to life, but Sylar has not acquired that power yet.

Bringing his face closer to Mohinder’s, his eyes search for any signal, a breath, a twitch; any indication that Mohinder is still there with him.

In time the truth is as unavoidable as the blood sticking to the soles of Sylar’s shoes, suctioning him to the floor.

“I didn’t…this wasn’t a…I…” Sylar tries in vain to make things right.

He has failed the one person he has tried to protect.

Moving his hand from Mohinder’s cheek he sweeps it downward across Mohinder’s eyes, shutting them with care.

A set of distant footsteps distracts him from Mohinder and he listens closely.

“Are you sure?”

“I think they were heading this way.”

Elle and Peter.

They are still far away enough for him to make his escape, but closing in on him if he hesitates. Sylar steps towards Declan’s body and swaps his bloodied shoes for Declan’s clean ones.

Without the time he wants or needs with Mohinder, Sylar can only cast one last look.

As fast as his feet will carry him he makes his disappearing act.

 

**XII**

Listening in, fine-tuned to a specific location, Sylar is already a block away when he finally hears the despairing shout of “Mohinder!” in Peter’s cracked voice.

It drives forward an anguish from so deep inside Sylar that he quickly sidesteps into a nearby alleyway and stalks towards the end.

Hot tears spill down his cheeks and gasping sobs call up from his throat as he tries to hold in the eruption of emotions nearly wracking his body.

Fists clenched, Sylar is tempted to pound his hands into the building walls or drive his head against the bricks repeatedly.

Frustration at not knowing what to do, he feels himself spinning out of control. The overwhelming sensory overload screaming throughout his body of memories—all old, there will never be new ones for them—gives rise to a tidal wave of nausea.

Sylar leans against the wall and slams his head back against it. Slowly sliding down to his feet he feels something in his back pocket.

Standing back up he reaches into the pocket and pulls out an envelope.

Molly’s letter.

A rush of thoughts springs forward. He could rip it open right now to see what arrangements Mohinder made for her, while he accepted his own demise in the process. He could go to her right now and take what he has wanted but put off for so long; and he would not even have to kill her in the process. He could—

His eyes fall on Mohinder’s handwriting on the front.

Another flow of tears trickles down his face.

In his hand is something so significant to Mohinder, so thoughtfully put together and entrusted to him to deliver.

_Entrusted to him.   
_  
Sylar lifts his shirt with his left hand to wipe his face. With a few deep breaths he restores calm to his body.

He is now focused.

Walking out of the alleyway Sylar thinks about how much he has had to compromise of himself to work with others. He has handed over the god given control of his own life, control he once wielded without regret or remorse or even conscience. The great cost of the chance he took is now—

It has been awhile since he worked on his own, answerable to only himself. It has been years since his abilities were only his and each decision was precisely, expertly, calculated. He has not been only Sylar, a self-named persona that held its own history, instilling its own sense of awe and fear, in quite some time.

Spotting a mailbox just ahead Sylar takes one last look at Mohinder’s handwriting on the envelope. He rubs his right thumb along the inked lines and, with a sigh, posts it.

With part of his team dead now is as good a time as any to go rogue.

Keeping his eyes forward, Sylar walks along the busy sidewalk of shoppers and people heading to dinner.

He disappears into the New York crowd.   
 

**Author's Note:**

> Heroes Slash Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Overall Fic** (RUNNER UP)   
> **Nominated for Best Death Fic**  
> **Nominated for Best Sylar (Gabriel) Characterization**
> 
> Mylar Fic Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Overall Fic** (RUNNER UP)


End file.
